


The First Snowstorm

by Alley_Skywalker



Category: Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: F/F, Pre-Canon, Undressing, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-19 09:24:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13120836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker
Summary: There's a snowstorm the night Lise and Andrei are married.





	The First Snowstorm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alexandria (heartfullofelves)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfullofelves/gifts).



Ever since she was young, Amelie Bourienne dreamed that a beautiful Russian prince – or any prince, really – would come and save her from her life. First, it was a life of gentile poverty that her father’s debts had forced her into, then a life of an awkward but quickly blossoming teenager in the cold and stiff household of the Bolkonskys. 

At fifteen, she had fancied that she might repeat the story of many heroines in the French romances she loved so much and the heir of the family, Andrei, might succumb to her charms. She danced and sang and laughed for his benefit, but the young officer seemed to only find this tiresome and Amelie pouted and sighed and finally gave up. 

Marya, poor thing, had probably thought her in love – if Marya even understood much about that as a teenager – and tried to comfort her in her own awkward way. But Amelie did not particularly need comfort. She felt more slighted that her charms had not been appreciated than heartbroken. Andrei Nikolayevich would have made a cold husband indeed. 

When Andrei got married, they held the wedding at bald hills. His bride, the beautiful Lise Meinen, made quite the impression on Amelie. She was not even so beautiful as _lovely_ , in that way that vulnerable, sheltered and lively young girls are. But instead of being placid or haughty, as Amelie had excepted, she was cheerful and friendly with everyone, and while most of her friendliness and attention was dedicated to Marya, she found time to talk to Amelie of ribbons and dances and to teach her the waltz, which was just coming into vogue. 

When Lise’s slender arm wrapped around her waist and her long-fingered hand slid into Amelie’s, Amelie found herself suddenly aflame with the desires she typically associated with them. The desires to charm and attract and possess. _Lise_ , her name was Lise, and Amelie wondered what it would take for a beautiful Russian _princess_ to save her. 

 

There was a snowstorm, the night Andrei and Lise were married – a true Russian _vyuga_. Andrei took his time having a last drink with someone he called a friend, though Amelie doubted that Andrei Nikolayevich had any of those. Giving in to a girlish mischief, and ignoring Marya’s protests, Amelie crept to the bedchamber that the newlyweds would soon share and slipped in without knocking. 

Lise, who was being undressed by the only lady’s maid of the household, looked over and gasped at the sudden intrusion. Amelie curtsied and waited for the young lady’s shock to subside. “Oh, it’s you Amelie, you gave me a fright. I’m so jumpy tonight,” Lise murmured. “Do you mind if I call you Ameloe?—Forgive me, I do not know your father’s name.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright, Elizaveta Karlovna, I don’t mind.” Amelie said cheerfully, grateful that Lise was so fluent in French. Marya knew it well, but preferred to speak Russian and Amelie found that she still felt most comfortable in her native tongue even after years spent in Russia. She looked over at the elderly lady’s maid who was looking at them with suspicion, as though they were naughty children. “You may go, Avdotya Prokofyevna,” Amelie said, attempting a commanding tone. Infuriatingly, the od woman only sniffed at her. 

Lise smiled warmly and sympathetically at Amelie, then said, “We will manage; you may go.”

The lady’s maid sniffed but bowed and left the room. As soon as she was gone, Amelie and Lise burst out laughing. “Oh, how silly! Did you see her face!” Lise cried, the small whisker of hair above her lip trembling as she laughed. 

“I will help you undress,” Amelie said and began to quickly undo the lacings on Lise’s silver wedding dress. The lacings came undone in Amelie’s hands and the fabric began to slide from Lise’s pale, slim shoulders. Her dark hair contrasted starkly against the dress and her soft skin, slightly flushed from the warmth of the lit fireplace. Amelie took long, steady breaths as she worked, inhaling Lise’s perfume, admiring the elegance of her frame. Oh, how starved she was for the sight of elegant femininity in this cold and reserved household. The servant girls were crude and Marya, bless her gentle heart, knew and desired nothing of fashion and had the misfortune to have a face that resembled her father’s. Not even the tenderest friendship could overcome the fact of lacking aestheticism. But Lise was like a breath of cold fresh air. 

Outside, the wind howled and beat against the windowpanes. Lise’s dress slid down her torso and her legs. She stepped out of it and Amelie began to work on the corset lacings next. Sometimes her lithe fingers got tangled in her hurry to take apart the fabric so that she might be able to touch warm skin. She could imagine the corset coming undone and sliding her hand down the long, soft, expanse of Lise’s back. Her breathing hitched and she had to close her eyes for a moment to regain her composure. 

“The storm is so terrible,” Lise said quietly. “It makes me uneasy.”

“Don’t worry too much about it. We get plenty of them here – hasn’t been a winter without one. Just imagine how warm and cozy you will be in your marriage bed.”

Clearly that was the wrong thing to say as Lise flinched. “Oh. Yes.”

“You do not sound happy to be married,” Amelie observed, the cheerfulness fading from her voice, even as a strange, almost vicious, hope bloomed inside of her. 

“Oh, no, I am, I am!” Lise protested. “Very much so…simply I have never…” She turned just as the corset cracked open under Amelie’s hands. They were now face to face and Amelie could see that Lise was blushing. The flush on her cheeks looked especially warm in the light of the fireplace. 

Amelie smiled gently. “Now the petticoats,” she said. 

“You are so kind and you have the softest hands.” Lise murmured almost absentmindedly, reaching up to take the pins out of her hair. “I can see why Marie is so fond of you—I’m sorry, am I being rude?”

Amelie laughed, though it sounded strained to her ears. The more of Lise’s body was exposed, the more the tightness in her abdomen grew. “Not at all.”

Clearly uncomfortable with being undressed, Lise hurried to replace her clothes with the silk nightshirt laid out for her. She perched on the edge of the bed and continued to take out the pins in her hair. Amelie reached out to help her. Her fingers grazed soft, dark curls and she bit her lip, tracing their cascade over Lise’s shoulders. 

And when Lise said, in almost a whisper, “I heard that it hurts,” Amelia ached to reply, _It doesn’t have to. I can show you._

Instead, she merely murmured, “Nonsense.”

Amelie did know yet that this was only their first snowstorm together in this house, in this room, on this bed… So when there was a knock on the door and Andrei Nikolayevich’s voice floated to them, muffled by the heavy oak, Amelie felt a pang of regret as she stood and said, with her best, most cheerful smile, “I should go. Goodnight.”


End file.
